


Any Way The Wind Blows

by zoneviled



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoneviled/pseuds/zoneviled
Summary: The four of them have done everything else together. They might as well do this.





	Any Way The Wind Blows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetillusion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetillusion/gifts).



“So this Instagram relationship between you lot,” an interviewer says to them in London one night, snaking it in between questions about Freddie’s outfits and the ambitious musical numbers, nearly drowned out by the screaming fans behind her, “is it real or manufactured?”

It’s the first time anyone’s officially addressed it, Joe thinks, and it gives him a real thrill as he smirks up at the other two. Rami’s further down the carpet, scratching his neck and probably telling the same stories he’s been telling for two months now, the ones that’ve been vetted and approved, that he’d rehearsed with Joe in private long before he’d gone public with them, but Ben and Gwil are at Joe’s side, shoulders pressed together, foreheads identically scrunched as if they’re contemplating how to respond.

Joe makes an executive decision and leans in. “Everything on Instagram is manufactured,” he says truthfully, “but those pictures”—he gestures languidly between the three of them, his eyes trained on the back of Rami’s head—“don’t even scratch the surface of what the four of us are doing behind closed doors.”

**

“That,” Gwil says, “was ballsy.”

“It was _stupid_ ,” Ben shoots back, but with a resignedly amused voice so that Joe knows he’s not actually pissed. “Rami’s going to kill you.”

The door swings open mid-sentence and Rami stands there, backlit by the fluorescent hallway lighting, tie hanging loose around his neck. He’s, once again, a newly minted winner, and he’d stayed out later than the rest of them, did the thank-you circuits, the requisite after-after-parties, and now it’s late and he’s looking a little worse for wear, but still he comes. Back to the room. Back to them. “Why is Rami going to kill you?” he asks suspiciously. 

“Joe was naughty,” Ben says, the tattletale.

“Joe was Joe,” Gwil amends, which is either kind or insulting; Joe’s not sure which. “On camera, to boot.”

Rami drops his suit jacket right there on the floor, like it’s not worth thousands of dollars, and moves towards the bed. The three of them—Joe, Ben, and Gwilym—had collapsed onto one king, even though there were two, their backs braced against the headboard, Ben’s ankles lapped over Gwil’s, Joe’s elbow tucked into Ben’s side. Joe doesn’t remember when this became their normal, but it was early on. And easy. Always easy.

“Scoot,” Rami says, and Ben rolls over obediently, so that Rami has room to climb in between them, settle himself right into the fold. He reaches over and curls his fingers under Joe’s chin, tips his face towards him, gives him a reproving look. “Do you need to be punished?”

“Who, me?” Joe says innocently, all dramatic batting eyelashes, which causes Gwil to snicker.

“Take away his phone,” he suggests, and Ben adds, “Change his Instagram password, that’ll really make him suffer.” 

“I don’t need to be punished,” Joe says. “But you, Rami. You need to be celebrated.” 

“Oh, do I?”

“You do,” agrees Ben.

“Well then,” Rami says, and puts on his best Freddie voice: “Celebrate me, darlings.” 

It’s meant to be a joke. Joe’s entire schtick is joking, it’s what he _does_ , and this is no different, his hand gliding down and cupping Rami through his pants, just one quick joking squeeze with a very pointed "congrats!"—but Rami’s hand is faster, and before Joe has time to pull away, Rami’s fingers are covering his own, holding them there in place.

“Oh,” Ben says over Rami’s shoulder, soft and surprised—but not too soft. And maybe not even all that surprised. 

Because they’ve done this before, this sharing a bed thing, this lack of personal space thing, this playful blur of boundaries, but they haven’t done _that_. Not the four of them together. Rami and Joe, once or twice, a decade ago, a handful of times since—but that was alone, and private, and usually when they were drunk. The four of them had done celebratory shots a few hours ago, but Joe is not drunk. He locks eyes with Rami. Rami looks tired but focused, his eyebrows lifting lightly, like he’s asking a question. 

Rami is not drunk.

Joe swallows harder than he means to, and moves his hand in an experimental way. One of them, Joe can’t tell who, breathes out hard through his nose.

“Well don’t leave us out, then,” Ben says, but first sneaks a look at Gwil to make sure he’s on board.

“I’d say get a room but, uh, we’ve already got one, yeah?”

“We do,” Joe agrees, very logically.

“So we’re doing this?” Gwil asks, watching Joe’s hand with obvious interest.

Joe shifts up onto one elbow for better dexterity. “I think we are.”

“Jesus Christ, can we stop talking about it and just do it?” Ben toes his shoes off and drops them over the side of the mattress, looking a lot more sure of himself than he did two minutes ago. “Why must everything lead to discourse with you all? It’s very un-sexy.”

“On the contrary,” Rami says, his voice catching slightly, “I’m surprisingly turned on.”

“Not that surprising,” Joe contradicts, just to be an asshole, but then twists his wrist in a way that makes Rami's hips edge up off the mattress and his eyes flutter closed.

Ben climbs down to the foot of the bed and starts to work on Rami's shoes, carefully unlacing them one at a time. “Gwilym, make yourself useful and get his shirt,” he says, and so Gwil’s hands drift to Rami's buttons, deft and experienced, making quick work of them all.

Rami pops his eyes back open. “And what am I supposed to be doing?”

Joe grins and presses a quick kiss to Rami's bicep. “Laying back and enjoying yourself. We’re celebrating you, remember? You’ve worked hard enough tonight.”

“You all have too,” Rami points out, gracious, always gracious, but Joe waves his niceties away.

“Yes, we know, we’re the best cast you’ve ever worked with, you couldn’t imagine a better team, there’d _be_ no Queen without John—”

“And Roger,” Ben adds, and Gwil’s quick to follow with, “And Brian, obviously, bit like the glue that holds them all together—”

“Do you think maybe this is why we’re all alone in a hotel room on a Sunday night?” Joe asks, toying with the button on Rami's pants.

“We’re insufferable,” Rami agrees.

“I don’t know,” Gwil says, fingers trailing along Rami's chest, tracing patterns into his bare skin, “I kind of like us.”

“We have our moments,” Ben says, and begins lightly massaging one of Rami's feet.

Joe watches Rami's neck work as he swallows, and thinks it’s weird how _not_ weird this is, all four of them here, like maybe this was destined to come to a head at some point. How many nights had they slept cuddled together, some combination of them, how many times had they plunked down in each other’s laps, how many backrubs and constant chiming WhatsApp messages, piggyback rides and hugs, so many goddamn long, lingering hugs? Of course this is happening.

Of course it is.

He moves his hand away from Rami's dick (Rami makes a low, whiny sort of noise) but only so that he can take proper care of Rami's pants, unbuttoning and unzipping and hooking his fingers into the waistband so that he can slowly, teasingly, edge them down. “Little help?” he asks Ben, and Ben looks up at them from under his eyelashes and then crawls back up Rami's body to assist. Gwil leans in and swipes his tongue across one of Rami's nipples and it makes Rami gasp a little and Joe realize, offhandedly, that he is already achingly hard. And he hasn’t even been touched.

“Kinda wanna make out with one of you beautiful people,” Rami says, combing his fingers through Gwil’s hair, and Joe’s not sure he’s ever moved faster in his life.

“Dibs,” he calls, and smirks and ignores Ben’s suggestion that they should maybe rock paper scissors for it, _to be fair_ , and instead wriggles his way up so that they’re eye level, and he reaches forward and grazes Rami's lips with his thumb, first, the top lip and then the bottom, and then Rami's mouth closes around his finger for a split second, putting wonderful filthy images into Joe’s head. He pulls his hand back and kisses Rami on the side of his jaw, and then his chin, and then splays his fingers against Rami's neck and finally, finally, kisses him for real.

Rami’s mouth is soft and compliant, and they strike a balance almost immediately, give and take, an electric current shooting through Joe’s entire body that’s only amplified when he feels a hand slip under the back of his shirt and he doesn’t even know whose hand it is.

He pulls back for a breath and sees Ben taking the initiative to start shucking his own clothes, a raggedy shirt tossed aside, his joggers shoved down his hips, and Gwil hastily pulls off his socks, and Rami smiles and says, “Come on, you too,” already tugging at the hem of Joe’s sweater. The night Joe’d lost his virginity he’d nearly tripped trying to get out of his boxers. He feels like that now, too, clumsy and excited and and not entirely sure what he’s doing but okay with it. He’s done everything else with these three guys. Why not this too?

“Kind of feel like we’re defying the laws of physics,” Ben says when they’re all mostly undressed, but in an impressed sort of way, “all these cocks in one place, never really seen anything like it—”

“You must watch really boring porn,” Gwil says, and Ben laughs and shoots back, “Don’t have to ask what kind of porn _you_ watch, we could all hear, you’re not exactly quiet when you’re jerking off, you know that?” 

“Now now,” Rami says, but ineffectively, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because Ben is surging forward, knocking Gwil right on his back, and then kissing the ever-loving _shit_ out of him, like maybe it was something he’d been meaning to do for months.

And again, Joe thinks: not exactly a surprise.

“Looks like they’re preoccupied,” Rami says to Joe, his voice low and meaningful, and Joe nods in agreement and smacks Ben lightly on the ass for good measure.

“I guess I could preoccupy myself too,” he says, and Rami opens his mouth to question him but Joe beats him to the punch, drops a gentle line of kisses along Rami’s chest as he makes his way southward. He wiggles his eyebrows up at Rami before wrapping his mouth around him, and he thinks about how nice it is to not feel self-conscious, that maybe they should’ve started doing this long ago, how many missed blowjob opportunities they’d had during filming, especially with four willing mouths. He’s too busy to say it just now, but he makes a mental note to tell the boys later what dumbasses they all are, and he’s pretty sure they’ll agree.

Rami’s got a hand between Ben and Gwil’s bodies, and Joe doesn’t even _know_ whose dick he’s touching—both, maybe, by the looks of it, by the sounds they’re making—and a minute later he pulls off to say, “Hang on, I’m feeling a little neglected down here,” and there’s a flurry of shifting, and laughing, and hands and mouths and too many body parts to even keep track of, and no one stays in one place for too long, and this, this is just as effortless as the rest of it, he’d go as far to say they’re _good_ at this; if he were a kindergarten teacher he’d say they were all particularly good sharers.

Joe’s not even positive who finishes first—might be a fun competition for next time, because of course there’ll be a next time—and then suddenly they’re passing around Ben’s shirt to wipe up (“why mine?” he complains, and Joe answers, “because it looks like you found it in a trash heap and thought ‘hey, this might look cool’”) and Gwil slides his boxers back on and Rami pulls a sheet up around his waist, but none of them move. None of them leave.

“Should probably shower at some point,” Joe says, because he’s sweaty and sticky but not mad about it. 

“You guys are great and all but there’s no way in hell I’m squeezing in that tiny shower with all of you,” Ben says back, but Rami shoots him a wink and says, “I will.” Joe doesn’t know if he’s kidding or not. He’s excited to find out.

Afterwards they turn on shitty television and order a lot of shitty room service food and they do, eventually, all wash off, but just before dawn they end up all crammed back into one bed (the cleaner one, this time), legs carelessly overlapping, Ben laying diagonal, Joe resting his head against Rami’s chest. One by one they drift off to sleep, and don’t wake up until well after noon, and even though they’re halfway across the world Joe has the weirdest feeling, like maybe, somehow, he’s already home.

**

This one’s a phone interview, done just after touching down in New York, Joe mainlining coffee just to feel like a real human again and ignoring the constant buzzing in the background, a flood of WhatsApp messages coming through. “Now that the awards season has wrapped,” the guy’s saying, “what’ll it look like going forward? You guys really as close as it seems?”

“God’s honest truth,” Joe says, and he’s only marginally sad that the three of them aren’t there to stop him, biting back a grin, “I’ve literally never been closer with a group of people in my whole entire life.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy chocolate unboxing, sweetillusion! to be completely honest i had no intention of participating in this exchange but i stumbled upon your prompts and was hooked. i'm brand new to this fandom but hope i did the boys some justice and i hope you enjoy!!


End file.
